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Father′s lodge, I well remember, wasn′t large, as lodges go
There was trouble in December getting to it through the snow.
But he seldom missed a meeting drifts or blossoms in the lane,
Still the Tyler heard his greeting, winter ice or summer rain.
Father′s lodge thought nothing of it ′mid their labors and their cares
Those old Masons learned to love it, that fraternity of theirs.
What′s a bit of stormy weather, when a little down the road
Men are gathering together, helping bear each other′s load?
Father′s lodge had made a village men of father′s sturdy brawn
Turned a wilderness to tillage, seized the flag, and carried on.
Made a village, built a city, shaped a county, formed a state.
Simple men, not wise nor witty––humble men, and yet how great!
Father′s lodge had caught the gleaming of the great Masonic past
Thinking, toiling, daring, dreaming, they were builders of the last.
Quiet men, not rich nor clever, with the tools they found at hand
Building for the great forever, first a village, then a land.
Father′s lodge no temple builded, shaped of steel and carved of stone
Marble columns, ceilings gilded, father′s lodge has never known.
But a heritage of glory they have left, the humble ones––
They have left their mighty story in the keeping of their sons.
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